


Goddjinnit

by iimbe2iile



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Nearly Human Crowley (Supernatural), Season 8 Spoilers, angstt, but also some sexy fluff, djinn, not too elaborate though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 05:50:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21506176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimbe2iile/pseuds/iimbe2iile
Summary: His room down here was secluded and sound-proofed, somewhere far off where he could catch a break from the Hell aspect of the place. Being the king of Hell is about as hectic as it sounds and as much as Crowley loves the constant screaming and sounds of pain, it’s nice to get some silence every once in a while.Except… hewasn’tin Hell, was he?
Relationships: Crowley/Bobby Singer
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	Goddjinnit

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place a day or two after Sam almost cures Crowley, so the end of Season 8 :P  
> I was originally gonna make a Destiel djinn fic, but I liked this idea a lot better :) It's pretty short, but it was super fun to write. I super love Crobby, but I can't really think of a way they would get together, so this'll have to do LOLL
> 
> Also RIP just noticed I said Crowley had been alive 3000 years instead of 300 LOOOLL

Crowley kept his eyes shut despite the annoying fact that he was already being dragged into consciousness, lingering anxiety from a dream he couldn’t remember refusing to dissipate. Demons couldn’t exactly sleep, not in the way humans could, but it was a little easier for him to get some rest at home. 

His room down here was secluded and sound-proofed, somewhere far off where he could catch a break from the Hell aspect of the place. Being the king of Hell is about as hectic as it sounds and as much as Crowley loves the constant screaming and sounds of pain, it’s nice to get some silence every once in a while. 

Except… he _wasn’t_ in Hell, was he?

He glared, taking in a breath. It smelled musky--the air was too cold and too stale to be his bedroom. Peeking open his eyes, he was confused to be met with a wall of rotting wood just beside his face. 

Crowley rapidly blinked his eyes in an attempt to better focus them as he groggily shifted onto his side and looked around the room.

The bed beneath him creaked when he moved; the shelves were covered in old books and dust; there was a gun hanging over a dresser topped with old fast food bags and discarded dirty clothes. The familiarity of it tied a knot in his gut. 

No doubt about it: this was Bobby Singer’s house. 

Crowley mumbled something under his breath, throwing the covers that lie on top of him to the side. As he did, he took painful note of the fact that he was in nothing but a pair of boxers.

He blinked once. Twice. Three times. 

“Mornin’, Sunshine.” Crowley’s head snapped up to the doorway at the sound of a familiar Southern accent. “Just wakin’ up, huh?” 

Crowley couldn’t help but gawk at the hunter. “...Robert?”

“Yep,” Bobby chuckled softly--a sound that left Crowley naturally more relaxed, despite himself. “In the flesh. You feelin’ alright, there? Rough night?”

“You could say that,” Crowley croaked, clearing his throat. “What is… why am I here?” Out of habit, more than anything, Crowley ran his hands around his body to check for any signs of something that might leave him immobile--maybe a tattoo of a demon trap or a bracelet with enochian engravings. 

Bobby sighed, walking over to stand beside the bed. “You _did_ have a rough night.” 

Crowley watched with hawk-like intensity as Bobby reached out and gently laid his hand on the side of Crowley’s neck. His hands were hard and calloused, but familiar all the same. Their sandpaper texture felt like home in a way that made Crowley’s breath uneven. 

He waited for the punchline--for the inevitable “fuck you” and a punch to the face--but was only met with Bobby’s lips pressed against his own. 

Of course, it made sense now. They’d been dating for a while now, haven’t they? Then why did this feel like the first kiss they’ve ever really shared? Why did it send excited sparks down Crowley’s spine, leaving him leaning into the gesture like a giddy schoolboy? 

Crowley sucked in a sharp breath, taking in Bobby’s wonderful smell and hungrily running his tongue along the hunters teeth. Taking advantage of his low position on the bed, Crowley hesitantly slid his fingers into the belt loops on Bobby’s pants, pulling him forward. 

Bobby snorted, in no way resisting as Crowley slowly undid his belt. “Didn’t get enough last night, huh?” 

Crowley softly gulped, shivering at the way Bobby ran his fingers through Crowley’s fading hair. 

“I will _never_ get enough of you, Robert Singer.” Crowley’s voice was rough and airy with arousal, his length already painfully hard under his boxers. Using one hand to pull off the belt, he wrapped the other around Bobby’s stomach, trailing it over his side and back down his spine. 

Bobby leaned into his touches, letting out a lewd, guttural noise that made Crowley lean back up to plant a wet kiss on the hunter’s lips, his hands working faster in unzipping Bobby’s jeans and sliding them down his thighs. Before he could expose anything, however, Bobby draped his hand over Crowley’s, making him pause and look up at him with wild eyes. 

Bobby smiled the warmest smile as he glanced over Crowley’s crazy bedhead and unshaven face. 

“Goddamn, if I don’t love you more than anything,” Bobby drawled in that sweet little country voice of his. 

Crowley smiled back the most genuine smile that had stretched across his face in almost 300 years, pressing it against the back of Bobby’s hand in the form of a sloppy kiss. 

“I love you too, Robert.” And then he smiled a more devilish smile. “Which is why I’ll have the time of my life fucking you raw.”

\----------------------------

"There he is!" Sam harshly whispered, gesturing Dean over as he tiptoed across the filthy concrete floor.

"Goddamn, I hate these things," Dean fumed. 

The brothers approached the limp body of the not-so-human-not-so-demon king of Hell, disconnecting him from the tubes he was strung up by. 

“How the hell does this work, anyway?” Dean asked, wrinkling his nose as he helped keep Crowley off the floor. “I mean, a djinn getting in a demon’s head--Crowley’s the one in this vessel’s head already! Leave it up to this bastard to get possessed squared.”

“It’s not possession,” Sam clarified, slinging one of Crowley’s arms over his shoulder. “And Crowley isn’t exactly a demon anymore.”

“Like that makes any more sense,” Dean mumbled. “One, two--” With a grunt, they both lifted him off the floor and began dragging him outside. “Nothing’s simple with this guy.”

“Well, next time lock the trunk better.”

“The dude used a damn saw or something! And how was I supposed to know--” Dean paused, slamming his back against the front door of the warehouse to pop it open. “--that anyone would even know he was in there?”

“We’ll just start keeping him in the bunker,” Sam said with a tired finality. “It’s better than dragging his ass everywhere.”

“You want to leave him in our only safe space, for demons to come and raid? I don’t think so!”

“Dean--”

“I love that bunker, man,” Dean whined. “If Crowley manages to take that away too, I’m killing every demon out there with my bare hands.”

Sam sighed, leaning against the side of the Impala. “God, he’s heavy.”

“Yeah, the guy’s--”

The brothers stopped dead, dropping Crowley in surprise as he belted out a blood-curdling scream. Dean pulled out his knife and Sam planted his feet firmly to the ground, taking on a defensive pose. The king's voice was so raw, it was almost painful to listen to. 

Dean stepped forward, ready to pounce, but was stopped by Sam placing a hand on his chest. They watched as his screaming devolved into desperate wailing; his whole body convulsed with violent sobs, tears trailing down his pale cheeks and mixing with the dried blood crusted on his face. His hand came up to meet the collar around his neck and he seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in.

Crowley took in a shaky breath, exhaling a pitiful whimper that would’ve made Sam and Dean roll their eyes if they weren’t so shocked at Crowley showing any emotion other than anger.

If either of the boys were going to say anything, they choked on their replies after Crowley croaked out a single, gruff word:

“...Robert?”

The brothers both simply blinked at him.

“Uh,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “Who--the djinn?”

“W-What, no you--” Crowley sniffed, dragging the back of his fist across his nose. “R--Bobby. Where’s Bobby?”

Sam glared. “What about him?”

“Where _is_ he?” the phrase came out more desperate than Crowley intended, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Heaven.” Dean smirked at Crowley’s shocked expression. “Yeah. Remember when you tried locking him in Hell and we saved him? He’s nowhere near where you’re going any time soon.”

Crowley’s eyes found the floor, his fists tightly clenching.

Djinn, did he say? Of course. He’d never been under one’s spell, but he’d worked with them before. He knew what they could do. 

“Fuck…” Crowley whispered, his shoulders hunching as more tears spilled down his face. “ _Fuck!_ ”

“Whatsit to you?” Dean asked accusingly.

“Dean,” Sam offered softly. He passed Dean a ‘look,’ but he only gave a confused expression in return. “It’s nothing. He’s probably just confused from the djinn.”

“And why would Bobby be in his dream world?” Dean glared. “What right does he have to even _think_ about him after what he did?”

Sam awkwardly bared his teeth as Dean looked between the two of them, his expression relaxing with realization. 

“Wait. You’re not saying--”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know,” Sam demanded. “It’s over. Let’s get him back to the barn, at least. Then we’ll decide if we want to keep him in the bunker.”

Crowley didn’t resist as they pulled him off the floor and guided him to the trunk. Sam watched with some sort of twisted empathy as Crowley curled up in the corner and started to cry, muffled when Dean forcefully slammed the top down.

The brothers walked around the front and got into the Impala, a strange silence falling over them as Dean turned on the car and started to drive.

After a few minutes of driving down the desolate road, Dean blurted out-- “Are you trying to tell me that Crowley-- _the_ king of Hell; genocidal, murderous, _psychopath Crowley_ \--has a thing… for _Bobby?_ ”

“I-I don’t know,” Sam shrugged. “I just know that… you went through the same thing once and there was a bunch of shit in there you didn’t even know you wanted, right? It-It twisted it around on you.” he paused. “He didn’t seem angry. Crowley, I mean. He just looked… sad. Like he lost something.”

“Serves him right,” Dean spat. “But Bobby? C’mon! He locked the guy in literal Hell!”

“Being a demon for that long would really fuck up your… well, everything. It makes sense that his concept of love would warp too.”

“So now he _loves_ him?”

“No, I just--! I don’t know, okay?”

“Yeah, you _don’t_ know. That sick bastard doesn’t--It doesn’t matter! It wasn’t real, so we’re leaving it at that: a stupid fantasy from inside a stupid demon.”

“Okay,” Sam sighed. “We’ll leave it at that.”

**Author's Note:**

> He just wants to be loved.


End file.
